While 'Wuthering Heights' heads to the big screen, these novels deserve their moment too

The conversations around book-to-film adaptations are always fascinating and most often, debatable—every reader has opinions, every filmmaker has a vision, and every viewer walks away with an interpretation they cherish forever. For some, a favourite novel comes alive in ways they never imagined; for others, the screen risks diluting the intimacy of the page and ink. Yet, the very act of adaptation is an homage: to translate words into moving images, characters into being, and emotions into collective catharsis.

As an avid reader, the thrill of knowing a favourite text will find its way to the silver screen is both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. When I first read about the Wuthering Heights adaptation, I couldn't contain myself, to say the least. Being such a crucial part of my life as a reader, the very fact that I was going to see Heathcliff in flesh and bone was surreal.

In this spirit and emotion, here is a carefully curated list of books that deserve their cinematic moment.

The Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

 

Divakaruni’s The Palace of Illusions reimagines the Mahabharata through Draupadi’s eyes, and its potential as a film lies in the delicate balance between epic scale and intimate storytelling. On screen, the lush imagery of palaces, war-torn landscapes, and divine interventions could be matched by a searing portrayal of a woman often relegated to the margins of myth. A visual adaptation would allow audiences to see Draupadi not merely as destiny’s pawn but as a woman of passion, fury, and longing.

In an era where mythological retellings are enjoying a global resurgence, this narrative offers us the chance to spotlight a hero whose voice resonates with bold undertones while retaining cultural authenticity. The camera could follow her gaze as it weaves through love, betrayal, and duty—creating a cinematic experience that is as poetic as it is powerful.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

 

Few novels feel as ready-made for the silver screen as Taylor Jenkins Reid’s The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. With its blend of Old Hollywood glamour, queer love, and scandalous secrets, the book already reads like a screenplay waiting for its close-up. Imagine golden-era studios, iconic gowns, and the velvet-lit drama of an actress crafting her myth while hiding her truth.

A film adaptation would not only celebrate the glamour of celebrities but also interrogate the cost of fame, the invisibility of queer love in history, and the loneliness that lies behind public adoration. What makes this story perfect for cinema is its ability to oscillate between dazzling spectacle and deeply human vulnerability. With talks of a Netflix adaptation recently, the on-screen adaptation will bring forth Evelyn’s narrative that invites an actress to embody both allure and fragility, offering audiences the kind of layered performance that lingers long after the credits roll.

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

 

Erin Morgenstern’s The Night Circus is pure cinematic fantasy. Its black-and-white tents, smoke-filled illusions, and surreal magic have the visual vocabulary of a film that would be a treat for both eyes and imagination. Unlike other love stories, this one unfurls within the theatre of enchantment—a duel of magicians bound by fate yet tethered by desire. The novel’s strength lies in its atmospherics, something cinema could heighten with rich production design, sweeping scores, and visual trickery that blurs dream with reality. The circus itself becomes a character, mysterious and otherworldly, and its translation onto screen could sit beside the most iconic fantasy films of our time. A film would allow the audience to step into that midnight world, where every frame feels like a spell cast in moving image.

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

 

Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life is as devastating as it is tender, and while some may argue its pain is too immense for an adaptation, perhaps that is exactly why it deserves the attempt. The novel’s exploration of trauma, love, and chosen family requires delicate handling, but in the hands of a filmmaker unafraid of intimacy and authenticity, it could become a cinematic masterpiece of raw emotion. The book’s greatest strength is its character depth—Jude, Willem, JB, and Malcolm are rendered with such piercing detail that their lives feel lived. On screen, these relationships could be explored with the intensity of close-up shots, silences, and the passage of time. It would not be an easy watch, but neither is it an easy read to begin with. A film could give visual form to suffering and resilience, making audiences confront the fragility of life and the persistence of love.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

 

Donna Tartt’s The Secret History practically demands adaptation. With its elite New England setting, intellectual decadence, and sinister undercurrents, it combines the aesthetic appeal of academia with the darkness of moral corruption. The novel’s brilliance lies in its exploration of beauty, obsession, and guilt—a narrative arc that aligns seamlessly with cinematic storytelling. A film would revel in the autumnal landscapes, ivy-covered colleges, and candlelit discussions of philosophy that mask something far more violent. The suspenseful unravelling of friendships turned conspiratorial would be heightened in frames and the use of unreliable narration. On screen, The Secret History would find its place as both a visual feast and a chilling reminder of how easily intellect can blur into moral decay.

Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkins Reid

 

Malibu Rising is drenched in cinematic possibility: the golden glow of California beaches, the pulsing backdrop of the 1980s, and a single night of unravelling that changes everything. Structured around the legendary Riva family’s annual party, the novel’s tension builds like a perfectly scripted ensemble drama. Each sibling’s story—of fame, abandonment, and survival—adds layers to a narrative that balances spectacle with the sense of what is 'real.' On film, the crashing waves could mirror the storm within, the music could pulse with nostalgia, and the camera could oscillate between sun-soaked exteriors and shadowed interiors of human pain. It combines glamour with grit, but with a sharp focus on family, legacy, and the fire that consumes. It is ripe for a film that is as intoxicating as it is tragic.

Origin by Dan Brown

 

Dan Brown’s Origin continues the author’s trademark marriage of history, science, and suspense, but what makes it stand out for cinematic adaptation is its contemporary edge. The novel grapples with questions of technology, artificial intelligence, and the future of human existence—all themes that are relevant in today’s cultural discourse. On screen, the chaotic chase through Spain’s cathedrals and modernist landmarks could blend action-thriller pacing with philosophical questioning. Beyond the spectacle of code-breaking and architectural marvels, a film adaptation could lean into the tension between faith and science. With its visual settings ranging from Gaudí’s masterpieces to futuristic laboratories, Origin has the capacity to captivate global audiences. Numerous novels by Dan Brown have already been adapted, like Inferno and The Da Vinci Code , and this would be a fantastic addition to the list.

The Fall by Albert Camus

 

Albert Camus’ The Fall may not seem like the obvious cinematic material at first glance, but its very spareness makes it fascinating. Told as a dramatic monologue of self-confession, the novel could translate into a film of psychological intensity—minimalist yet searing. Imagine dimly-lit Amsterdam bars, foggy canals, and a solitary voice before the camera. The claustrophobia of the narrative could be mirrored visually, drawing viewers into the fragmented psyche of Jean-Baptiste Clamence as he interrogates morality, guilt, and the human condition. In an age of sprawling blockbusters, a faithful adaptation of The Fall would stand apart as arthouse cinema of existential weight. Its brilliance lies not in spectacle but in stillness, inviting audiences to confront uncomfortable truths about hypocrisy and judgment. A filmmaker willing to take risks could turn this into a haunting meditation that lingers long after the frame fades to black.

The relationship between literature and cinema has always been symbiotic—one medium lending itself to the other, transforming private imagination into shared experience. Each of these books offers something unique, from mythological retellings and Hollywood scandals to magical realism, devastating intimacy, and philosophical confession. To see them adapted is to witness narratives reimagined. Ultimately, the power of adaptation lies in reminding us that these narratives never belong to one medium alone—they live, evolve, and find new voices with every retelling. Perhaps that is the true beauty of seeing a book you love on screen: it affirms that stories, like people, are never still; they are always becoming.

Lead image: Books

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